Guessing Games
by LithiumDoll
Summary: Is it bigger than a breadbox?


**Guessing Games  
Summary** Coda to 'Bloody Mary' - Humour, teh angst and nightmares waving from the corners of the room.  
**Pairing** None  
**Spoilers** None  
**Thank you** Poisontaster, Jebbypal and Mitchy for betaing goodness  
**Disclaimer** Nothing belongs to me, I just borrowed them.  
**Feedback** Always lovely 

Is it bigger than a breadbox?

Fire flickers around a question that doesn't belong in the inferno and Sam blinks the last of the nightmares away. They scatter, chasing each other into the corners of the motel room and he imagines them crouching, waiting. Outlined in red.

Finally his breathing slows enough he manages a hoarse reply. "What?"

The bed to his left squeaks and Dean's voice is no longer muffled. "Your secret - is it bigger than a breadbox?"

Sam wonders whether time and words and silence can be given an appropriate physical size for a few seconds before he realises there's no way in hell he's playing this game.

He consigns a couple of half-drawn conclusions to the back of his mind and leaves them there to mingle with the law notes and interview tips; all useless and waiting for nothing. "Twenty Questions? Dad taught you every interrogation technique he knows and you're down to Twenty Questions?"

There's a sudden activity to the side, Sam doesn't bother to look. Dean will be shaking down his cover and rolling up his pillow and then he'll settle again. Just like when they were kids. All the restless in one go, he guesses, and then you can listen out for the monsters under the bed. Jesus.

When the last of the creaks and rustles have died away, Dean finally replies. "He always made me promise not to try any on you. You know, after the water thing. You were probably too young to remember. So why not?"

"I remember."

"You're not playing because you remember me pouring a bucket of water over you? That's harsh, man. And I apologised."

Sam turns his head to look over at the merged shadow that is Dean and Dean's bed. "No you didn't."

"Okay, then. I'm sorry." The shadow moves.

"You're laughing."

"But in a really sorry way. C'mon Sammy, tell me why you won't play."

Because a secret told isn't a secret anymore. Because if it's not a secret then it's real and if it's real he'll never sleep again. Because this is stupid and he can still see red out the corner of his eye. "Because it's two in the morning."

"I hadn't noticed." He's always envied Dean the ability to speak volumes in relatively few words with just the slightest change of tone. He can manage disdain, sarcasm and even irony but Dean has _range_. In this case Dean also has footnotes and appendices.

"I can go sleep in the car." And the nightmares in the corners remind him they can find him anywhere at all.

There's a huff of half-exasperated breath from the other bed. "Because we really need to leave the legend of the screaming '67 Impala here when we head out. Go back to sleep."

Sam closes his eyes.

-o-

"...it smaller than a breadbox?"

The smoke is choking him and Dean's face is in place of Jess's and that can't be right and something is stopping him moving and he tries to fight it and he always tries to fight it but...

Wait. Breadbox?

He stills and after a moment the remnants of the nightmares ebb away to leave only Dean leaning over him and the taste of burning in his mouth. He tilts his head forward; the bed sheets are so tangled he's half strangled. The clock says three, neon green slashes reflecting on Dean's arm as he tries to pull some of the knots free.

Seconds and silence and then he notices Dean looking at him expectantly and he guesses more than remembers the question. "No, it's not smaller than a bread box"

His now-free hand searches for and finds the glass on the bedside table. It barely shakes as he brings it to his lips. He drinks carefully anyway because the water is real. Well, he's pretty sure it's real.

"As the great man once said ...'is it a breadbox?'"

Sam can't help the coughed out laugh, even though he knows it will be enough of a response, a weakness, to encourage Dean to keep picking away.

"Yes. It's a really secret breadbox. Wait, you kept watching Buffy after I left? After bitching all through the first season, you still watched it?" He grins with an obscure kind of triumph after how much mocking he endured. "Hah!"

Dean rolls his eyes and then gestures to the side of the bed. "Move over."

Sam has a moment to freeze and clutch the newly ordered blanket to him before Dean unceremoniously begins shoving him towards the edge of the bed. In the end he shuffles over before he's actually kicked.

"What the hell are you doing?"

A shrug, he can make that out in the darkness; which was just as well because Dean hasn't turned on the light. They never turn on the lights. "You didn't have nightmares after mom."

"I was too young. And I'm pretty sure I'm too big for a crib now."

Dean snorts and says nothing, just reaches to his own bed to drag his covers over.

Sam feels the need to raise at least one more protest as he's crowded across the mattress. "And the pillow. You're not sharing my pillow."

"Go to sleep, Sammy." The bed dips.

"Sam."

Sam closes his eyes.

-o-

When he opens his eyes again he closes them to slits against the glare. The hazy light is enough to see the shape of the car park through grimy window netting and the jagged neon clock has faded to a pale ghost of itself. He's curled onto his side; his hand is on...

Sam's eyes snap open. His hand is on Dean's chest, rising and falling slowly with the even breathing. Slow, even breathing - if there is any kind of benevolent higher power out there at all, he thinks, Dean is asleep and will stay that way while he makes a dignified escape.

A dignified escape possibly involving seppuku.

"Animal, vegetable or mineral?"

The conversational tone turns his mind away from extraction and he raises his head with a frown. "You're driving me insane."

Dean sits up, carelessly throwing little brother and covers away as he stands and stretches out the night. He yawns and blinks in the half-light. "No, I'm pretty sure something else has that covered."

Sam rolls onto his back and listens to the morning sounds outside. A delivery. An early checkout. Some kid whining. Knowing the history of this south-of-nowhere town he can't say he blames her.

And the nightmares stayed in their corners. He'd say thank you but he's pretty sure Dean would never talk to him again if he did. And he'd probably grin like some big cat for hours because he'd been right.

There are other ways to say thanks; ones that don't involve awkward silence or - even worse - that grin. "Want me to go get breakfast?"

Dean turns around from digging through the pockets of his bag. "Is it Lincoln?"

"What the hell?"

"Abraham Lincoln. When we were kids you always chose him. Every time. Freak."

"I was four and it was _twice_. And who the hell has a secret involving Lincoln?"

Dean disappears into the bathroom; the door has nearly closed before he sticks his head out with a pensive expression. "So it's bigger than a breadbox, is that what you're saying."

"Yes! Yes, it's bigger than a breadbox!"

The door shuts.

Sam closes his eyes.


End file.
